For wholeness, I only want to see what's really not there when youturn to gel down your hair in the mirror, cow-licking to intensity those wide, brash eyes and thatquerulous stare that seems to say,look at me! look at me and relivethe pain of knowing you were oncea tree, a lush garden shady spot inthe bowels of the city, avec someinner-knowing, far-reaching familiarrootless limbs and leaves.